Men, Women and Ghosts [33]
here now. We must hit on a plan To change all these titles as fast as we can. `Bouquet Imperatrice'. Tut! Tut! Give me some ink -- `Bouquet de la Reine', what do you think? Not the same receipt? Now, Martin, put away your conceit. Who will ever know? `Extract of Nobility' -- excellent, since most of them are killed." "But, Monsieur Antoine --" "You are self-willed, Martin. You need a salve For your conscience, do you? Very well, we'll halve The compliments, also the pastes and dentifrices; Send some to the Kings, and some to the Empresses. `Oil of Bitter Almonds' -- the Empress Josephine can have that. `Oil of Parma Violets' fits the other one pat." Rap! Rap! Bang! "What a hideous clatter! Blaise seems determined to batter That poor old turkey into bits, And pound to jelly my excellent wits. Come, come, Martin, you mustn't shirk. `The night cometh soon' -- etc. Don't jerk Me up like that. `Essence de la Valliere' -- That has a charmingly Bourbon air. And, oh! Magnificent! Listen to this! -- `Vinaigre des Quatre Voleurs'. Nothing amiss With that -- England, Austria, Russia and Prussia! Martin, you're a wonder, Upheavals of continents can't keep you under." "Monsieur Antoine, I am grieved indeed At such levity. What France has gone through --" "Very true, Martin, very true, But never forget that a man must feed." Pound! Pound! Thump! Pound! "Look here, in another minute Blaise will drop that bird on the ground." Martin shrugs his shoulders. "Ah, well, what then? --" Antoine, with a laugh: "I'll give you two sous for that antiquated hen." The Imperial Eagle sells for two sous, And the lilies go up. A man must choose!
III
Paris, April, 1814
Cold, impassive, the marble arch of the Place du Carrousel. Haughty, contemptuous, the marble arch of the Place du Carrousel. Like a woman raped by force, rising above her fate, Borne up by the cold rigidity of hate, Stands the marble arch of the Place du Carrousel. Tap! Clink-a-tink! Tap! Rap! Chink! What falls to the ground like a streak of flame? Hush! It is only a bit of bronze flashing in the sun. What are all those soldiers? Those are not the uniforms of France. Alas! No! The uniforms of France, Great Imperial France, are done. They will rot away in chests and hang to dusty tatters in barn lofts. These are other armies. And their name? Hush, be still for shame; Be still and imperturbable like the marble arch. Another bright spark falls through the blue air. Over the Place du Carrousel a wailing of despair. Crowd your horses back upon the people, Uhlans and Hungarian Lancers, They see too much. Unfortunately, Gentlemen of the Invading Armies, what they do not see, they hear. Tap! Clink-a-tink! Tap! Another sharp spear Of brightness, And a ringing of quick metal lightness On hard stones. Workmen are chipping off the names of Napoleon's victories From the triumphal arch of the Place du Carrousel.
Do they need so much force to quell the crowd? An old Grenadier of the line groans aloud, And each hammer tap points the sob of a woman. Russia, Prussia, Austria, and the faded-white-lily Bourbon king Think it well To guard against tumult, A mob is an undependable thing. Ding! Ding! Vienna is scattered all over the Place du Carrousel In glittering, bent, and twisted letters. Your betters have clattered over Vienna before, Officer of his Imperial Majesty our Father-in-Law! Tink! Tink! A workman's chisel can strew you to the winds, Munich. Do they think To pleasure Paris, used to the fall of cities, By giving her a fall of letters!
It is a month too late. One month, and our lily-white Bourbon king Has done a colossal thing; He has curdled love, And soured the desires of a people. Still the letters fall, The workmen creep up and down their ladders like lizards on a wall. Tap! Tap! Tink! Clink! Clink! "Oh, merciful God, they will not touch Austerlitz! Strike me blind, my God, my eyes can never look on that. I would give the other leg to save it, it took one. Curse them! Curse them! Aim at his hat. Give me the stone. Why didn't you give
III
Paris, April, 1814
Cold, impassive, the marble arch of the Place du Carrousel. Haughty, contemptuous, the marble arch of the Place du Carrousel. Like a woman raped by force, rising above her fate, Borne up by the cold rigidity of hate, Stands the marble arch of the Place du Carrousel. Tap! Clink-a-tink! Tap! Rap! Chink! What falls to the ground like a streak of flame? Hush! It is only a bit of bronze flashing in the sun. What are all those soldiers? Those are not the uniforms of France. Alas! No! The uniforms of France, Great Imperial France, are done. They will rot away in chests and hang to dusty tatters in barn lofts. These are other armies. And their name? Hush, be still for shame; Be still and imperturbable like the marble arch. Another bright spark falls through the blue air. Over the Place du Carrousel a wailing of despair. Crowd your horses back upon the people, Uhlans and Hungarian Lancers, They see too much. Unfortunately, Gentlemen of the Invading Armies, what they do not see, they hear. Tap! Clink-a-tink! Tap! Another sharp spear Of brightness, And a ringing of quick metal lightness On hard stones. Workmen are chipping off the names of Napoleon's victories From the triumphal arch of the Place du Carrousel.
Do they need so much force to quell the crowd? An old Grenadier of the line groans aloud, And each hammer tap points the sob of a woman. Russia, Prussia, Austria, and the faded-white-lily Bourbon king Think it well To guard against tumult, A mob is an undependable thing. Ding! Ding! Vienna is scattered all over the Place du Carrousel In glittering, bent, and twisted letters. Your betters have clattered over Vienna before, Officer of his Imperial Majesty our Father-in-Law! Tink! Tink! A workman's chisel can strew you to the winds, Munich. Do they think To pleasure Paris, used to the fall of cities, By giving her a fall of letters!
It is a month too late. One month, and our lily-white Bourbon king Has done a colossal thing; He has curdled love, And soured the desires of a people. Still the letters fall, The workmen creep up and down their ladders like lizards on a wall. Tap! Tap! Tink! Clink! Clink! "Oh, merciful God, they will not touch Austerlitz! Strike me blind, my God, my eyes can never look on that. I would give the other leg to save it, it took one. Curse them! Curse them! Aim at his hat. Give me the stone. Why didn't you give